


The Scent of Ash and Apple Pie

by khayfd



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drabble, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khayfd/pseuds/khayfd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On some days, Stiles smells like sadness. Like the forest in the rain, but with that undercurrent of ash that makes my throat feel like I'm choking on a mouthful of smoke and debris. Those are the days that I watch him. I watch his hands as they tremble, hear his heart skip a beat as he tells the pack that he's fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scent of Ash and Apple Pie

 

 

 

_ The Scent of Ash and Apple Pie _

 

 

          On some days, Stiles smells like sadness. Like the forest in the rain, but with that undercurrent of ash that makes my throat feel like I'm choking on a mouthful of smoke and debris. Those are the days that I watch him. I watch his hands as they tremble, hear his heart skip a beat as he tells the pack that he's fine.

 

          "I'm totally fine. Don't worry about me."

 

          He knows better than to lie to a pack of werewolves. No matter how convincing his smile looks, his heartbeat never lies.

 

          "Hey, Stiles! How's it going?" He turns to Kira as she walks past with a wide grin.

 

          "I'm doing great, thanks!"

 

          As Stiles shuffles into the kitchen, I shadow his movements. He jumps when he turns to face me.

 

          "Jesus Christ, Derek! I'm so getting you a bell, man. Not all of us have super werewolf hearing to listen around for your supernatural creeping," he grumbles a little more, no doubt trying stay in character even though I can scent the guilt oozing from him.

 

          "You're not," I said, staring him down, hoping he tells me what's been bothering him.

 

          "Not what?"

 

          "You're not doing great. You're not okay."

 

          He squares his shoulders and glares back with twice the fervor.

 

          Of course.

 

          But before he can lash at me with his sharp tongue and wit, I continued.

 

          "You're not okay. Something's bothering you and you're upset. We're pack now remember? It's okay to be upset. You don't ever need to hide," I was breathless at the end of the speech, since they were the same words I told myself over and over for the past ten years.

 

           His shoulders slumped, whole body drooping, like cutting the strings of a marionette. "Didn't know you were capable of talking this much."

 

          "I try," I said dryly, with the hint of a smirk on my face.

 

           He smiled a little, a bit exasperated but a lot relieved. We both sat down on barstools by the kitchen counter and talked. About his nightmares, the nogitsune, his dad, and almost dying every week. We talked about my family, the fire, Laura, Kate, Jennifer and even Paige. We talked until the smell of ash dissipated, replaced by the scent of sunlight and apple pie. Not quite of happiness, but contentment.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
